


tonight (and all my nights)

by usuallysunny



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 05, Bathtubs, F/M, Fluff, Love Confessions, Pining, set after the season 4 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usuallysunny/pseuds/usuallysunny
Summary: Chloe always imagined that when he came back,ifhe came back, she would be ready. Her outfit and makeup would be flawless, her reaction to him as smooth and unruffled as her perfectly curled hair.What she never imagined was that she’d be covered in her child’s vomit, day old oatmeal flaking on her shirt.But when he smiles that lopsided smile and tells her he missed her, she finds she doesn’t care at all.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 18
Kudos: 425





	tonight (and all my nights)

Chloe always imagined that when he came back — _if_ he came back — she would be ready.

She imagined sauntering into Lux, a too-short, too-tight dress wrapped around her. Sometimes in her fantasies it was black, sometimes it was red, but his reaction was always the same. He would glance up as she walked down the stairs, his brow arching in surprise, a cigarette hanging between his teeth, and he would be impressed, _awed,_ at the transformation she had undergone.

She’d be such a far cry from that sobbing mess on his balcony, the night she begged him to stay. He hadn’t, of course, and _okay_ , she’d spent some time feeling sorry for herself, licking her wounds, but she was _fine_ now.

She _was._

She was doing just great without him and she didn’t need him.

She _didn’t._

She would look down as she descended those stairs and _this_ time, he wouldn’t be with Eve. He wouldn’t be holding her as she promised to give him everything Chloe couldn’t. He would be waiting for her—because she _could_. She accepted him now, all of him.

She loved him.

She loved him as much now as she did that night she told him, the words lodging in her throat before she pushed them out. _More,_ even.

Alone at night, staring at the ceiling, she sometimes allowed herself to dream about this reunion. She imagined him watching her with unmistakable sadness and regret that he’d ruined things between them. First by running off to Vegas and then to Hell itself — though she understood the reasons for the latter far more. She thought about _him._ She wondered if he was happy and if he was safe and if he missed her the way she missed him. Because she did, despite her stubborn insistence otherwise. She felt untethered without him, tiny shards of herself splintering away the further he travelled from her.

She couldn’t remember the last time she solved a case without him. She couldn’t remember what that felt like. Her life had become completely entwined with his ridiculousness, his charm and his sharp humour and the way he moulded witnesses like clay, into just the shape he wanted them.

She imagined their reunion so many ways, over and over again as she lay in the dark, aching and sad. She fantasised about the way he’d hold her and the way he’d kiss her and sometimes — on those particularly dark, lonely nights — her fingers would snake between her thighs and she’d fantasise about something else he’d do to her.

What she _never_ imagined was that when it happened, she would be covered in her child’s vomit, day old oatmeal flaking on her shirt.

“I’m sorry!” Trixie squeaked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Chloe sighed, glancing down at the damage.

“That’s okay, baby,” she soothed, trying to hide her wince, “it’s not your fault.”

It wasn’t. It wasn’t her fault she’d caught a stomach bug and been sent home from school. It wasn’t her fault she hadn’t been able to keep down the plain toast she’d been given for dinner, a dinner that was now making its way down Chloe’s shirt in a messy, brown sludge.

She supposed _projectile vomiting_ was something she’d signed up for when she brought that bundle home from the hospital.

She touched a palm to Trixie’s pale forehead and felt it warm and clammy.

“Why don’t you go get into bed?” she said softly, “get some rest.”

Trixie nodded, a guilty look flickering over her face.

“Sorry Mommy,” she mumbled again before she slumped off to her room, her movements slow and tired.

Chloe stroked her hair before she went, reassuring her again that it wasn’t her fault. Once she was alone, she went to the sink, turning the tap on and trying in vain to scrub most of the sick from her shirt. As she did so, she noticed another stain, some oatmeal from breakfast. She sighed, shutting the water off and running a tired hand over her face.

She was _exhausted_. She hadn’t realised quite how much.

The realisation that she wasn’t coping as well as she thought she was hit her like a freight train. She was trying to distract herself with work and chores and going out with Maze — but she wasn’t okay. Both her hands curled into the sink as she leaned over it, briefly shutting her eyes.

She shook her head and told herself to be brave.

She was fine before Lucifer Morningstar… and she would be fine after him.

A knock on the door dragged her out of her reverie.

She rolled her shoulders and sniffed, washing her hands once more before she went over to the door and opened it without checking the peephole first.

Her stomach dropped, her breath catching in her lungs.

“Lucifer…” she breathed, stunned.

She caught a flash of white teeth as he smiled — and then she slammed the door in his face.  
  


* * *

  
“Detective?”

She closed her eyes against the sound of his accent.

She had missed that— that smooth, charming brogue. His tongue curled around her nickname sinfully; he wielded it like a weapon. She knew every way he said it, when he was angry or delighted or even aroused. It drew out the same reactions in her.

She wanted to hear it, had _yearned_ for it — but not like this.

“This can’t be happening,” she muttered under her breath, white hot panic pooling in the pit of her stomach.

She was supposed to be dressed up. Her hair and makeup was supposed to be perfect. Instead, she was pale and clammy and exhausted and this shirt _definitely_ didn’t have another day in it when she picked it out of the hamper this morning, even before the oatmeal and sick. There were purple bags under her eyes, her hair scraped up in a ponytail that was definitely not the fashionable kind of messy, and she was pretty certain there was even some sick in it.

She was supposed to be _ready_ for him.

“Chloe…” Lucifer was trying again, his voice quieter as it floated through the door. She pursed her lips, her mind racing, as she leaned back against the door. She imagined him doing the same on the other side, or perhaps placing his palm on the wood, waiting patiently for her.

She screwed her eyes shut again at the next name he tried, his accent smooth and soft.

“ _Darling_ …”

To her horror, she felt tears stinging behind her vision.

She counted to five before she told herself to get a grip. She was a _detective,_ for god’s sake. She’d faced down countless criminals and corrupt colleagues and the literal first murderer in the Universe. She had never let herself be defined by a man, was no shrinking violet.

Yet here she was, anxious and afraid of _Lucifer,_ a man she had known for years.

She dragged the band out of her hair, raking her shaky fingers through her locks to try and comb them into some semblance of normality. Then she wiped under her eyes, brushing away dry flecks of mascara and the tiredness that lay there. 

She turned around, told herself to be brave, and opened the door.

She lost her breath again at the sight of him, leaning against the doorframe like he never left. He looked handsome and strong, clad in one of his expensive, tailored grey suits, and her reaction to him was just as powerful as before. She’d hoped she’d become immune.

She tried to stand tall, unaffected.

“Hello, Lucifer.”

Silence stretched out between them.

“May I come in?” he asked eventually, his quiet tone lined with amusement.

“Sorry,” she muttered, opening the door so he could step inside. She fought back her shudder when his body brushed against hers, hot and electric.

As they stood in her living room, an aching silence yawning between them again, she felt how the air seemed to crackle. She had never had such a reaction to another man before. It was so intense it scared her, and if he felt even half of what she felt, she understood why he had run away.

“You’re back.”

It was a rather lame assertion, rather obvious, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

“I’m back.”

“For how long?” she asked — because what she did next was so dependent on the answer.

His smile was genuine then, lifting both corners.

“As long as you want me.”

She averted her eyes, a tightness in her chest, because she _always_ wanted him and wasn’t that the point?

“Who’s looking after Hell?” the words sounded so ridiculous coming out of her mouth; she could hardly believe this was her life now.

Lucifer merely shrugged.

“Apparently my father’s decided Hell doesn’t need a guardian anymore,” he said like it was simple, “it’s all rather suspicious, but I can’t bring myself to care. Not when it means I’m free to come home.”

"Well, the penthouse is just as you left it — no white sheets this time, though.” 

His mouth tipped into a devastating, lopsided grin.

“I wasn’t referring to the penthouse, Detective.”

She swallowed as he took a step towards her.

“L.A. then?”

He slowly shook his head.

“No,” he hummed, “not that, either.”

She bit her bottom lip to stop it from trembling as he finally closed the gap between them. He was standing so close, she could feel him — his heat, his strength, his _smell_ , all rich whiskey and smoke and pine.

“The earth in general?” she asked on an incredulous, breathless little laugh.

His mouth twitched again before he gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“ _You_ , darling,” he murmured, “you are my home.”

She sighed, leaning into his touch, and she thought that was hardly _fair_. How was she supposed to be strong, _cool,_ when he said things like that?

He could spin such pretty words, there was a time she worried it might not be real, but this was _Lucifer_ and he didn’t lie.

As his hand slipped down, his ring pressing into her skin as his palm rested over her heart, she was suddenly painfully aware of her state of dress again.

Her nose scrunched up, her eyes darting down to her messy shirt.

“You’ve caught me at a bad time,” she half-laughed, half-moaned, “Trixie’s sick.”

“Is she alright?”

She smiled, touched at his genuine concern.

“Just a stomach bug.”

His mouth pinched in distaste.

“You humans and your feeble little illnesses,” he snorted good-naturedly, “still, your offspring is very strong.”

“She is,” Chloe smirked, “you should be kinder about humans — we both know you’ve got a soft spot for them.”

He clicked his tongue and arched a brow, seemingly considering it.

“Some of them, yes.”

She gazed at him, her chest still tight and aching.

“I just—” she paused for a moment, not wanting to seem weak, “—I didn’t want to be covered in sick and day old breakfast when I saw you again.”

He blinked once, twice, before he laughed. It was a lovely, carefree sound. She’d missed that too. He laughed so much in the early days of their partnership — such a charming, intoxicating, _ridiculous_ man — but in the years to come, that relaxed air he carried with him became heavy with the weight of his true identity and everything that entailed. 

She didn’t want to look like this when he saw her again, that was true, but then he smiled that lopsided smile and murmured—

“I've missed you, Detective.”

—and she found she no longer cared at all.  
  


* * *

  
“Aren’t you going to tell me you missed me too?”

Chloe popped an eye open, lost as she’d been to the warm water floating over her skin like a blanket.

Lucifer was sitting on the toilet seat, his elbows on his knees, his hands tented casually over his mouth. He painted an odd picture to say the least — the Lord of Hell, King of Desire, sitting on her toilet, crammed in her tiny bathroom. 

She smirked, closing her eyes again and leaning back against the tub. 

“What, and stroke your already absurd ego?”

“You could stroke something else, if you like.”

A laugh bubbled behind her lips before it burst out. _There he is,_ she thought, and kept on laughing. It felt good, _normal_. Her world, upside down and out of focus for so long, finally slipped back into place.

It had been his idea for her to run a bath. It had been hers to invite him to stay.

_“Go and relax, Detective,” he’d insisted, “I’ll still be here when you get back.”_

Maybe part of her didn’t believe him, maybe she was just scared of losing him again, but she didn’t want to let him go — not for a minute. So here they were, some bubbles and his clothing the only barrier between them. Her blonde hair hung loose, darkened and wet around her shoulders, the damp ends curling over her breasts. Her arms rested on the sides of the tub, her shoulders loosened and relaxed, the stress of the day washed away.

They sat in silence for a while, the kind of easy silence that comes from years of knowing and trusting each other.

Finally, she broke it.

“Have you seen Amenadiel and Linda?” she asked, “Charlie’s getting so big now.”

Lucifer shook his head.

“No, I came straight here. I haven’t even been to the penthouse yet.”

She felt a blush rise up her cheeks as he looked at her, his gaze steady and unyielding. His eyes were dark and warm; they said everything he couldn’t bring himself to say. It was the same look he gave her that night on the balcony, before he flew out of her life.

She hadn’t said she missed him back — but he never said _I love you,_ either.

But it wasn’t a competition, she reminded herself, and he said it in very different ways.

“Lucifer, what I said the night you left…” she started, her voice a little shaky, “I meant it. All of it. I’m sorry for the way I acted when I saw your face. I — I was scared and I let myself be manipulated by all the wrong people. I _listened_ to the wrong people. I believed in Kinley when really, I should have just believed in you. In us. I mean, I _know_ you. I’ve always known you. We’ve spent years working together, building this _incredible_ relationship, and I lost sight of that. I guess my world turned upside down and I couldn’t adjust.”

He listened patiently, his expression calm and somewhat unreadable.

“I’ve said it before, Detective,” he started quietly, “I’ve had literal eons to come to terms with who I am. You don’t need to apologise.”

“But I want to,” she insisted fiercely — because she _needed_ this _,_ “I want you to know how sorry I am. Will you show me again, right here, just me and you?”

He stiffened. His shoulders grew tense and a muscle in his jaw jumped.

“That really isn’t necessary—”

“ _Please_.”

He sighed.

“Very well… as you wish.”

He turned his face to the side and she waited with bated breath, lifting her body out of the water slightly in anticipation.

When he turned back to her, it was with that red face, the bumps and ridges of raised scar tissue, the eyes blazing and burning with hellfire.

She stared and stared — and couldn’t remember why she had been so scared in the first place.

She didn’t see a monster or the devil or something to be feared. She saw only him. Only Lucifer. The man she loved.

As though under a trance, she slowly waded through the water, twisting and turning her body until she was at his edge of the tub. With one arm resting on the side, she leaned up on her knees and touched a palm to his face. He flinched, a flicker of uncertainty, but she remained steadfast.

She fought to keep her pulse under control as she slowly raised herself up even further. Her other hand curled over the edge of the bath as she brushed her lips against his.

“Detective,” he muttered, sounding like he was in pain.

He was tipping his chin back, pulling away from her slightly, but she wouldn’t let him run this time.

She took his face in both hands and pressed her lips to his.

It was a gentle kiss, just like the one on the balcony, only this time, he would stay. His lips were soft, a sharp contrast to the jagged edges of his face under her hands, and it was her turn to take control of the kiss. As she slanted her mouth over his, she felt the skin under her fingers slowly change, morphing into the smooth, handsome lines of his human face. She felt the grit of his stubble, the sharp edge of his jaw.

When she pulled back, there was no hellfire in his eyes, just warm pools of brown.

“I want you to know something too,” he said, his voice husky and low.

She was suddenly painfully aware that her upper body was lifted out of the water and exposed, her hands having drifted to his lapels. They were wet, leaving soap and bubbles tracing the edges of his expensive suit, but he didn’t seem to care. He didn’t seem to care that she was naked either. For once, he wasn’t trying to seduce her. He was trying to make her _see._

She waited for him to continue.

“I understand if you don’t want anything more,” he said quietly, “I didn’t come back for… _that_. I know that accepting my true face doesn’t necessarily mean that you can be with me. So I’ll be your partner again, I’ll be your friend. I’ll be anything. It won’t change what you’ve done for me, or how I feel about you.”

She stared at him, an ache spreading through her chest. It hurt her, that he still didn’t see the truth. That she didn’t just love and trust him — she was _in_ love with him. Wholly and completely. She had never loved anyone the way she loved him.

“Because you, Chloe…” he paused for a beat, his mouth twitching into a melancholy smile, “you will always be the love of my life.”

The words burst like sunlight between her ribs.

An incredulous sound ripped from her throat — half a laugh, half a sob. She knew if she tried to speak, she would just cry, so she tugged him to her by his lapels and kissed him instead. 

She swallowed his little grunt of surprise, his momentary hesitation before he kissed her back. This time, the kiss was heated, lust snapping at her heels like fire. When she felt his tongue swipe across her bottom lip, she opened her mouth, blossoming under his touch.

She didn’t realise she was pulling him into the bath until she felt his throaty chuckle against her mouth and looked down to see his soaked cuffs.

“Oh!” she breathed, “your suit…”

“Darling,” he crooned, his voice back to characteristically smooth and seductive, “I don’t give a damn about the suit.”

She kissed him again and felt the curve of his smile against her mouth.

“Still,” she whispered, wet hands pushing his expensive jacket off his shoulders, “you should probably take your clothes off.”

He arched a smooth brow.

“Should I, now?”

She nodded, wildness dancing behind her eyes.

“Lucifer,” she said, “I said I meant _everything._ I love you. I choose you.”

Her reply was another fierce kiss. Under her palm, she felt a growl rumble from his chest as he climbed into the tub, clothes and all. The sound she made was half a laugh, half a gasp as water sloshed over the side. She tried to stop her hands from shaking as she frantically tugged at his clothes and he slid his mouth to her neck.

The water was growing tepid, more of it pooling on the floor than in the bath, and she couldn’t care less.

It had been a long journey — literally to hell and back — but they were finally where they were supposed to be.


End file.
